English passengers (47 page)

O
NE EARLY MORNING
I was woken by a shout outside the hut, too short, as if something stopped it. Others didn’t hear and just kept sleeping but I was curious. Going out, I saw day was reaching out from over Bruny Island like big yellow hands, making light so I could see Walyeric was fallen down, very still. I could guess she was getting new wood for fire as some logs were on the ground just beside. I took her head and her eyes were watching, just a little, so I knew she wasn’t dead, which was my great fear, though she looked so bad. Her face was angry with hurt and her breaths were fast as if she wanted air too much. But as we stayed so she did get better by and by, breaths going slower, and she telling that hurt in her chest was getting small now.

Later that morning she was well again and even went swimming in the sea for muttonfish, and got some too. Still I did think about her getting so crook, and after a time I went to her.

‘‘Walyeric, I think you must go and visit Peevay. You must give him your forgivings.’’

She always hated being told she must do anything. ‘‘Why should I?’’

There was no use being gentle with Walyeric, as she only noticed fighting. That was her way. ‘‘It’s bad to go hating your own child so. What if you die? D’you want him to think you hate him always?’’

For a moment her look went thoughtful and I had hope, but only for that moment. ‘‘I’m not going to his white man’s house with all that white man’s shit.’’

She was right about his house, yes, as I saw it, and he had every num thing, just like Superintendent Eldridge’s hut. There were table and stools, fireplace and mantelpiece, and also candles, teapot and shelves with a book. Even his clothes were so, like frock coat and shoes and tall hat sitting on the table. A strange thing, though, was that the more num things he had, the less like any white man he got. His hair, which was yellow before, was just grey now, so he might just be any Palawa getting old. Also he got more hateful at white men all the while, so now he was more raging in his talk even than his mother. Then again she hardly cared so much about them anymore, just living more quietly like a fine old lady. I suppose she did kill them when she could, which was pleasing for her, while he never did. Besides, when you get to being some old rotten-bones it’s harder to trouble anymore with hatings you had.

Another thing that made Peevay so cross at num was his new house. He never meant to have it, you see, as his wish was to get a fine big place for us all. So many letters he sent to white men that he made us sign, saying we must get land, plenty of it, and also convict white men to grow us food, like other white men got, which he said they must give us after all their cheating hatefulness. Then we would be wondrous fine fellows, so he told. Peevay always was clever with his writing and I supposed he might get anything. In the end, though, all white men gave was that small hut, just for him, with no land and no convict whites either. He was so angry that he said he wouldn’t live there. In the end he did, though, so he could go to some place nearby cutting up whale fish and earn white men’s coins, as he said money would let him trouble white men more cleverly, till we got our due.

‘‘I’ll get that place for you, so I will,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll make them give it to us.’’

Sometimes I thought he was like his mother after all. You see, they both never would stop. I think that was why it was hard to make them be kindly to the other. Yes, they were like two rocks stuck in mud that you cannot push together, and when you try they get stuck deeper. Still I
must think of some way before it is too late. I cannot abide them getting trapped in this hating for ever and ever.

(Excerpt from
On Distant Shores: Recollections of a Colonial Governor’s Wife
, Chapter 27: ‘‘A Christmas to Remember’’)

During one bright springtime of my earliest years I formed a little association of playmates dedicated to the preservation of fledgling birds that had fallen accidentally from their nests. Though our childish efforts proved more wishful than effective, sad to say, the sentiment that inspired them has, I now realize, remained with me ever since, this being a deepest sympathy for those whom life has treated unkindly. It is simply outside my nature to remain unmoved by tales of the wretched of this world, whether they be little children lost in poverty, frail grandparents neglected by their ungrateful progeny or helpless animals suffering maltreatment by a cruel master. In consequence it was no doubt inevitable that, upon coming to this distant colony of Tasmania, I would find myself drawn to the lamentable story of that island’s aboriginal natives.

I was aware even before we arrived at Hobart that these has endured a dreadful decline, though I knew few details. Once we had settled at Government House my curiosity grew and I began asking about the matter, first of our housekeeper, Mrs. Murray, and then of some of my new lady friends, the wives of Gerald’s officers. To my surprise I found my questions were met with reluctance, even evasion, quite as if it were thought in poor taste to discuss the subject. My interest was not quenched, however, but grew greater, and I next asked Gerald. What shock I felt when he told me that a mere dozen of the poor creatures remained still alive. It seemed that disease and past violence by escaped convicts had taken every one of their fellows, while these few survivors were so advanced in years that there could be no hope of their race enduring.

Greatly moved by this terrible discovery, I tried to think of ways a
little solace might be brought to these unfortunates in these their final days. One notion proved especially appealing: to pay a visit to their settlement and bring them gifts. Dear Gerald was also most taken with the thought, though he felt that, for the moment, his duties were too onerous to allow him the time required for such an expedition, the aboriginal establishment being a twenty-mile journey from Hobart, on poorest roads. It was only a few weeks later, however, that he proposed we should hold a social gathering at Government House for Christmas, so we might become further acquainted with those of note within the colony. All at once I became aware of a most delightful possibility.

‘‘We can also invite the poor aborigines!’’

Gerald, enthusiastic though he was at the suggestion, felt concern that the blacks might become upset by the commotion of such a grand occasion, being accustomed to a remote and tranquil existence. He was further worried that one among their number might make mischief. This fellow, I should explain, was a half-caste aborigine by the name of Cromwell, being a notorious maker of trouble, who had learned to mimic the ways of an Englishman just well enough to be a perfect nuisance. (Gerald gave a most amusing description of the fellow, strutting about town in an ill-fitting frock coat and a top hat, though his face was black as coals.) It seemed the man’s ambition was to lead a life of aristocratic leisure, and to this end he was forever sending whining letters to officers of the government demanding he be given tracts of land, and even convicts to act as his servants. As Gerald pointed out, there could hardly have been a greater contrast between such a fellow, who endeavoured to use his fellows’ misfortune to exact gain for himself (though he was hardly even of their kind), and the true aborigines, who showed such a touching resignation as to their lamentable fate.

‘‘The fact is we can hardly invite the others without him, as they insist on regarding him as being one of their number, in spite of his mixed blood,’’ Gerald considered sadly. ‘‘Yet to invite such a fellow to a formal social gathering would, I fear, be to ask for trouble.’’

An idea occurred to me. ‘‘What if we arranged for the aborigines to be set apart from the rest of the festivities? That, surely, would answer all our difficulties? They would not be alarmed by the throng, while this Cromwell would have no opportunity to cause a scene.’’

Gerald was doubtful still, but with my own warm encouragement he eventually assented. Delighted, I dispatched an invitation that same day to the superintendent of aboriginal settlement, a Mr. Eldridge (who Gerald told me was a man of tainted past). I added a further request to Eldridge asking if he might ask his blacks to bring with them objects of their own manufacture, such as bead necklaces, wooden figures or spears, which they might be willing to part with in exchange for simple gifts. My hope, I should explain, was to assemble a small, yet perhaps not unimportant collection of memorabilia of this vanishing race. I could quite imagine the sitting room of our London house in some future time, its walls displaying spears and throwing sticks, and a crowd of savage figurines hunched upon the mantelpiece, forming a delightful and also most touching reminder of our time spent upon this faraway shore.

Within a few days a reply arrived from Mr. Eldridge, who, to my delight, reported that he and his blacks would gladly attend our gathering. Less welcome was the letter of acceptance from the half-caste Cromwell, which arrived shortly afterwards, and was written in a most peculiar style, using long words most strangely, and seemed only too suggestive of a disordered mind. By this time I was already preoccupied with preparations for the coming event, which proved no small matter. The question of food was especially difficult, as it was my dear wish to have each of our many guests take tea, while I had quite set my heart on offering them the same fare that would be found at Christmastime in England. The southern reversal of the seasons made this far from easy, I soon discovered, especially with regard to cakes. There were no plums for plum pudding, nor pears or apples, let alone chestnuts. It was quite as if one were required to devise a harvest festival in an English June.

My troubles did not end there. There was next the matter of a tree— none of the native varieties looking or smelling quite right—while I found it nearly impossible to discover suitable decorations in the Hobart shops. Hardly had I succeeded in arranging a group of choristers to sing carols when I struck new calamity with regard to casting the Nativity drama, as so many of the island’s younger persons had left for the Victoria gold rush that it proved nigh on impossible to discover a baby—at least of good family—to play the infant Jesus. When it came to the other roles I found my problems were exactly reversed, as I found that a good part of
Hobart society had a weakness for theatrical drama, so any decision I made was likely to cause great disappointment in some quarter. I was obliged, indeed, to refer several times to Gerald, so I might attempt to avoid unwittingly making dangerous enemies for Her Majesty’s colonial government!

As days passed, however, problems were overcome and arrangements made. I had the hallway of the house redecorated, banishing the gloomy hues of our predecessors, and all was given a most thorough cleansing. I then began attending to the garden. I had just chosen a corner where our black guests might be placed—I would have the potted plants moved from outside the stables to provide a screen from the rest of the gathering—when there occurred to me a most delightful idea. I could arrange to have their likenesses taken. It was a notion, I realized at once, as pleasing as it was valuable, for the preservation—at least in mem-ory—of this most unhappy of races. If the results were satisfactory they would certainly earn a prominent place in our London house.

I began to make enquiries that same afternoon and soon discovered the name of the professional I sought.

W
E WERE ARRIVED
! After so many months of discomforts and worries, of struggles and privations, we had finally reached our journey’s end. What joy I felt as the
Sincerity
crept gently up the estuary of the Derwent River and there before us lay Hobart town, cheerily lodged beneath the frowning massif of Mount Wellington. Since we had left Port Arthur I had every hour been expecting Potter to demand we drop anchor at some deserted rock or cove, so he might cause us further delay, but, to my relief, he had remained quiet. I could only suppose the Black O’Donnell incident had served to dampen his spirits. If so I hoped the effect would prove of long duration.

The sight of our destination had a most cheering effect upon all aboard the
Sincerity
. The Manxmen grinned and sang as they went about their final tasks aloft, reducing sail that we might proceed slowly towards
the port, and Renshaw showed rare animation, quite hanging over the ship’s rail to look upon the shore. Even the doctor displayed something like courtesy—a quality I had hardly seen in him till now—and for a brief moment I almost wondered if I had judged the man a little harshly. As for my own self what excitement I felt as I gazed upon this land that had so long filled my thoughts. The dour peak of Mount Wellington suggested some little-known region of Scotland, but the scent of vegetation drifting across the water seemed exotically unfamiliar, and rich with promise. It was no doubt merest fancy and yet, as I listened to the humming of the wind, playing its strange tunes in the ship’s ropes, I almost believed I could hear the faint murmuring of voices, like distant angels, whispering their greetings across the miles of wilderness: ‘‘Welcome, sweet vicar, welcome.’’

Hobart did not tarry long in making itself known to us. Hardly had the
Sincerity
been towed to her berth in the harbour—an elegant arrangement, with grand stone warehouses lining the quays—when there stepped onto the deck a genial-looking man in a straw hat, who introduced himself as a reporter for one of the island’s newspapers, the
Colonial Times,
and explained he was seeking information for the shipping announcements. Captain Kewley treated the fellow with some coolness but I saw no need for such reserve, considering we had been presented with a most useful opportunity. Thanks to Jonah Childs’s efforts our arrival was already expected in some quarters—including even the governor himself—but still I felt it might be of no small interest also to other, less exalted members of the local population. Thus I endeavoured to explain a little about our expedition to the reporter. I was pleased to observe he showed the greatest interest, quite plying me with questions, and eagerly scribbling my replies in his notebook. I went in search of lodgings with a sense of good work promptly done.